August 15, 2010 - Proper 15, Year C (RCL)
Gardening
has been tough work this year.
After last year, when the rain never seemed to stop
the whole month of June,
we had August heat
in July, more August heat this month,
and not very much rain.
The tomatoes are doing okay, but in my garden at least,
most of my usual vegetables refused to grow,
and the flowers are looking pretty sorry.
The only benefit
has been that the strawberry plants that I bought three years ago,
and which took over the whole of one raised bed
but only ever produced two strawberries
have finally given up.
I have some sympathy
with the vine grower
in our Old Testament reading today.
It begins as a love song,
the celebration
of a beautiful garden, planted in the best location
on the side of a hill, with sun, shade and good drainage,
the soil dug over and sifted and raked and mulched,
and then planted
with the best quality vines
that money could buy.
The sun shone and the rain fell,
and the vines grew up their trellises,
and the vine grower pulled weeds and scared away birds.
And the grapes began to swell,
and everyone predicted
a bountiful harvest
and a great vintage that year.
But harvest time came,
and the grapes were surprisingly small,
just the size of a currant,
and the vine grower went out and picked a bunch,
and bit into one
and then spat it out,
it was so sour.
And he tried a bunch
from another row,
and another row,
and they were all the same. Small,
sour, almost dry,
where they should have been large and juicy and sweet.
And so the vine grower asked around his neighbors,
“What should I do?”
But knew the answer.
He had to rip out those vines, and plough over, and let the land go fallow.
Because whatever was making those grapes sour
wouldn’t be solved
in one season.
And you all know
that if you have something tenacious, like grapevines, or blackberries,
or for that matter, my strawberry plants,
just ripping them up isn’t enough.
Often the roots survive, and you have to let them sprout, then pull them, and do it again and again,
before you finally get
the land clear. Sometimes it’s just easier
to try again
in another
place.
Which all sounds great
until you realize
that the prophet Isaiah
is not talking about gardens
at all.
It’s all a metaphor.
A story
that tells
another story.
Because of course, Isaiah isn’t really talking about a vineyard.
He’s talking about
the people of God,
the people of Israel and the house of Judah.
It’s the same people
he was talking to last week.
The ones who were great at all the religious ritual,
but who have abandoned justice,
the justice
that is at the heart
of our God.
“Seek justice,” says God to them through Isaiah.
“rescue the oppressed,
defend the orphan,
plead for the widow.
Cease to do evil,
learn to do good.”
They are like the vines, apparently green and healthy,
but with something so wrong at the core,
that what they produce
is bitter and inedible.
God had lavished incredible gifts and care on these people:
remember back in Genesis,
when God created the world
and put human beings in it,
and blessed them with everything that was created, and it was good?
And remember when God promised Abraham descendants and a land that they could call home?
And remember when God brought them out of Egypt, and led them and fed them in the wilderness, and brought them back to their homeland?
And remember how God provided them with judges and kings and prophets to lead them, and the law to guide them?
God had loved the people, had loved them and cared for them.
And what happened?
Over time
they took it all for granted,
and stopped paying attention to God
and paying attention
to God’s way of living.
They reduced their relationship with God
to just a one-day-a-week ritual,
and forgot about everything God had said
about this faith being
a whole-of-life thing.
God had planned it
so that they would blessed and safe and secure,
so that they would be able to become a society
where there blessing and safety and security
for everyone.
But it didn’t work.
They hoarded their blessings,
they became obsessed with their safety,
they tried to find security
in everything except
God.
God expected justice
and saw bloodshed;
God expected righteousness
but heard a desperate cry for help.
And that makes me wonder
what sort of metaphor God might use
for us?
What sort of vineyard
are we?
We, in this country, have been so blessed.
We have land that is rich and fertile,
and underneath it
rocks and minerals that driven our wealth.
Bounded by sea on two sides,
and fairly friendly countries on the other two,
for most of our history we have been safe.
Even in this recession, our standard of living is high compared to most places in our world.
And yet, there are people here, within our own country,
who are crying out for help.
The news the last couple of weeks
has had stories about protests against people who simply share a faith with terrorists
and racial slurs on the radio and in workplaces,
and each week in the food pantry,
we meet people who are struggling
just to feed their families.
And it makes me wonder, where do we fit
on the scale of justice
and righteousness?
And of course, that’s the point of the metaphor.
Because it’s not simply to condemn,
but to invite the hearers
to examine themselves.
That’s why the vinegrower
asks his neighbors
what he should do about his vines.
Not because he doesn’t know,
but because he wants his hearers
to work out the answer for themselves.
So that when the metaphor is uncovered
they can
judge themselves.
It’s a pattern we see
time and time again in Scripture.
Remember the time when David
had the affair with Bathsheba,
and Nathan the prophet
told him another farm story?
About a wealthy man
who decided to serve up for dinner
not one of his own lambs,
but the lamb that belonged to a poor man,
that man’s only livestock.
And David denounced the rich man,
only to realize
that he himself was that man, stealing another man’s wife.
Or that time when Jesus met the woman
about to be stoned,
and said to those attacking her,
“Whichever one of you is without sin,
you throw
the first stone?”
And none of them
picked up
a stone.
What Nathan does, what Jesus does, what Isaiah does,
is to invite the people
to be their own judge.
To examine themselves, with honesty.
And see if they live up
to God’s calling
to them.
They don’t need
any outside condemnation.
They will condemn
themselves.
And it’s what God invites us to do ourselves.
But not, in the end,
so that we invite our own destruction.
But so that we can change our ways,
and receive the forgiveness and blessings that God holds in front of us.
And God picks up the metaphor in the words of Jesus,
during the conversation that Jesus had over dinner with his disciples
the night before
he died.
Jesus said,
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. You have already been cleaned by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.”
It’s a vineyard again. But this time, we who are listening
are not the vines themselves;
we are just the branches.
Jesus is the vine, the root, the stem;
we draw all our life and sustenance from him.
And yet at the same time
if we do that,
if we allow ourselves to be sustained by God,
we also have to allow God
to prune us,
to reshape us,
Part of joining that vine, of being grafted in,
is to look at ourselves honesty, to be willing to judge ourselves,
and willing to let God prune us and correct us and train us.
And to risk following the commands of God,
commands that lead us to act with justice and righteousness, to demand change from our society
and from ourselves.
That’s difficult to do. It means we have to admit
how we have failed.
And yet, and yet, the response of God
is not condemnation.
The response of God is hope.
Because the invitation, the invitation
is to be pruned and reshaped, so that we bear fruit,
and in the process
to live our lives
embedded in and surrounded by
the love of God
who will give us all that we need
and more.
So we are to take courage,
to be honest.
Examine ourselves, as individuals and as a society,
to find where we’re not measuring up
in terms of justice and righteousness.
And look for how we can change that.
Knowing that
it may be hard at times,
but that the love of God will surround us
and support us
and keep us safe.
© Raewynne J. Whiteley 2010